A long, clear howl pierced the darkness for the third time in only a few minutes. Adam held his breath. Apparently the moon had broken through the clouds enough to provide the pack with some light.
“You’re a sop,” he told himself, even as his eyes darted again to the connecting door between his chambers and Persephone’s.
It must have been nearly one in the morning. Persephone had likely already fallen asleep and hadn’t even heard the noise that, apparently, unnerved her so entirely. If he’d realized the pack would be silent for so long, he might not have been so insistent they return to Falstone so soon after reaching the Boar and Dagger. The inn hadn’t proven as run-down as he’d anticipated, though the innkeeper was every bit as grasping and dishonest as the letter from Harry’s valet had hinted.
Adam could have handled the man for one night—he still had every intention of seeing that Mr. Smith’s business practices were looked into. Any innkeeper who required a fee before allowing a sick man to send for a physician was not at all the sort of businessman Adam wanted in the vicinity.
Nevertheless, Mr. Smith and his shady business weren’t the reason for Adam’s haste. Neither was concern for Harry’s well-being nor the ever-growing drifts of snow. It was Persephone and those ridiculous wolves. Not that he’d believed they were going to devour him on his return trip as she had so comfortingly predicted. All the way to the inn and all the way back he kept thinking of how greatly she feared the pack—feared thesoundof them—and how, for some inexplicable reason, she seemed less afraid with him nearby.
Adam shook his head at his own uncharacteristic actions. Her fear was irrational, completely and utterly nonsensical. He ought to have sent her back to her own rooms that first night and forced her to face them. A person couldn’t go through life afraid of things that weren’t threatening. It would be better for her in the long run.
If she came in again—Adam’s eyes darted back to the still-closed door—he’d simply tell her so. He’d send her back through the door with instructions to show a little fortitude.
Adam heard the door scrape open. His eyes were closed in an instant.
Why in heaven’s name did he feel nervous?
“Adam?”
He reminded himself of his intention to send her away. Adam didn’t say a word.
Persephone’s footsteps sounded quietly as she crossed the room.
What am I doing?Adam demanded of himself. He’d made a decision, chosen a course of action. But he wasn’t sticking to it. Heneverchanged his mind once he’d come to a conclusion.
The bed shifted, and Adam knew Persephone had climbed in again. She’d done so the past two nights. If he opened his eyes, he would, no doubt, see her wrapped in a blanket, curled in a ball, sleeping on her side.
A wolf howled from the distant forest.
Persephone seemed to sigh, a sound of immediately recognizable relief. “Oh, Adam,” she whispered, and somehow Adam knew she wasn’t actually addressing him, “you’ve married a coward.”
Adam wanted to tell her she wasn’t the coward she’d labeled herself. He’d seen her mount Atlas when she’d had no previous experience with riding. She’d lived with him for weeks without once turning into a trembling heap. That was a rare accomplishment.
She feared the wolves, which didn’t really make sense. But Persephone had found a way to deal with her fear. That showed a remarkable amount of intelligence, a character trait Adam valued highly. Persephone wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted in a wife, but she had her good points.
She’d been in the room less than five minutes when Adam realized she’d fallen asleep. Strange how her being in his room seemed to relax her, when it only made him tense. Perhaps it was the fact that she was not a peaceful sleeper. There was the frequent movement, coupled with little noises at regular intervals.
“At least,” Adam whispered almost silently, “she doesn’t snore.”
There was nothing for it but to try to sleep. Adam opened his eyes and turned his head in Persephone’s direction. She was little more than a mound of blankets. Persephone slept on her side, as always, with her back to him. Adam could make out nothing but her hair. It was brown, too dark to be blonde. His hair was black. It seemed as good a combination as any.
Adam shook his head, pushing out a breath of frustration. Why the blasted blazes was he analyzing their hair colors? He really was losing his mind!
He shifted so he faced the canopy that hung over his bed. He slammed his eyelids shut and commanded himself to sleep. Like every person who ever received an order from the Duke of Kielder, he obeyed. He hadn’t expected sleep to come so easily and never would have predicted the dream that followed. Adamneverhad nightmares.
Fog rolled in, dense and biting—the frozen kind that nipped at every exposed inch of flesh. Adam rode Zeus, the horse’s hooves crunching through a frozen layer of day-old snow. From the shrouded distance a howl echoed among the trees. Adam heard the sounds of the pack on the move. Snow had, no doubt, driven their prey underground, and the pack, in its hunger, seemed to be growing more aggressive. Their howls had sounded closer to the castle lately.
“Go on, Zeus,” he urged the unusually skittish stallion. They were still miles from Falstone. He had no desire to be lost in the forest with fog rolling in.
A growl echoed off the trees. More growls joined it. Then barking.
“The pack is hunting,” Adam muttered to himself. The idea made him uneasy, nervous. He was armed, of course . . . Adam was always armed.
A long, bone-chilling howl signaled a chorus of identical calls. Somewhere in the midst of the chorus of voices, Adam heard a snort he recognized at once as equine, followed by a horse screaming, the way the more aggressive stallions did if put together in the paddock. It was a fighting sound.
Adam didn’t like it. Zeus didn’t either. His mount was fighting him with every step as Adam made his way toward the increasingly hostile sounds of the pack and the frantic noises of a horse Adam felt certain had found itself in their midst.
There was no reason for a horse to be in the forest. The nearest stables were at Falstone, and the grooms never lost sight of an animal long enough for it to wander from the gates. Falstone Chapel was several miles further, but Mr. Pointer kept his cattle securely inside the vicarage barn when not in use.
